"I couldn't guess."

"I don't think you could. He has turned drayman." Charles Folsom
gazed at his friend in wonder.

"Turned drayman!" he exclaimed. "Is he reduced to that?"

"Reduced to that! My dear fellow, you don't understand the use of
language. Graves is earning fifteen dollars a day at his business,
and I don't believe he made that in New York in a month."

"Well, it is a strange state of society. Does he mean to be a
drayman all his life?"

"Of course not. A year hence he may be a capitalist, or a lawyer
again. Meanwhile he is saving money."

"He is a sensible man, after all; but, you see, Carter, it takes time
to adjust my ideas to things here. The first surprise was your rough
appearance."

"There is one advantage my rough life has brought me," said Carter.
"It has improved my health. I was given to dyspepsia when I lived in
New York. Now I really believe I could digest a tenpenny nail,
or--an eating-house mince pie, which is more difficult."

"You have steep hills in San Francisco."

"Yes, it is something of a climb to the top of Clay Street Hill.